When he started up, the Godfather Break of Day was peeping at its

namesake. He rose, took his shoes in his hand, turned the key in the

door with great caution, and crept downstairs. Nothing was astir there

but the smell of coffee, wine, tobacco, and syrups; and madame's little

counter looked ghastly enough. But he had paid madame his little note

at it over night, and wanted to see nobody--wanted nothing but to get on

his shoes and his knapsack, open the door, and run away.

He prospered in his object. No movement or voice was heard when he

opened the door; no wicked head tied up in a ragged handkerchief looked

out of the upper window. When the sun had raised his full disc above the

flat line of the horizon, and was striking fire out of the long muddy

vista of paved road with its weary avenue of little trees, a black speck

moved along the road and splashed among the flaming pools of rain-water,

which black speck was John Baptist Cavalletto running away from his

patron.




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